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Songs of Two Centuries 


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A THOUSAND 
MORE VERSES 



BY 



WILL CARLETON. 




NEW YORK : 
EVERY WHERE PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



«A 



Copyright; 1912, 

by will cakleton. 
all rights reserved. 



CU320455 



FIRST WOK 

The word "\ from the Latin 

\ a line or row. 

It means, as applied to literature 

;iza, as is often supposed, but a line of 
poetry, or that which its author claims or 
:<^nates as such. 

The author of thi writ- 

ing more or less verses all through his I 
thus far, inserts the word "more" between 
the second and fourth worJ^ book's 

title. There will be found a thousand ve: 
in the book., and perhaps 8 tew in addition, 
for good (or bad) measure. 

Some people like to carry poems around, 
and read them as they have time and oppor- 
tunity. That is why this edition of the book 
is made of suitable size to be a guest of the 



FIRST WORDS. 

pocket, or of the traveling-case, or of the 
mesh-bag. 

More explanations will be found, in Ital- 
ics, opposite some of the poems. These are 
used, because an introduction to a subject in 
prose, often makes the reader more likely to 
read the poem itself. 




CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Christmas Bells' Mission ... 9 

New Year and Old Year 11 

The Deacon's Christmas Dance . 13 

The Dictagraph 19 

Tommy as Santa Claus 21 

Don't Let Them Bury Me Deep 25 

The Belle of the New Year ... 27 

A Prophecy 33 

A Valentine to Heaven 3c 

The Long Lent-Tide 37 

The Firecracker Boy 41 

Converse with August . . . . 45 

The Wreck of the Liner 49 

Eagle and Aeroplane 59 

The Sea-Bird in Town (33 

Educating the Family 69 

In September 73 

The Fool That Drops the Match . . 75 

Conqueror, and Conquered .... 77 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Learning Rory CTMore 79 

On the Elysian Fields 

O Where Will Be 87 

State's Evidence 89 

To the Last Mosquitress . .91 

To Dead 'Butterflies . 93 

Automobilia .95 

The Welcome-- A Parody 97 

ne O'Clnck Gun 99 

Disenchanted 103 

October's Contrast 105 

In the Wiv. : the Maine 107 

lis, on the Maine 109 

The Funeral of the Maine .... 112 

The Rose's Lament 114 

The Kidnap, tayer . . . 119 

The .... . 125 

In Mexico 129 

Indian Summer .... 131 

The Coming of Greeley . 133 

Arbutus 137 

Advice to Others 139 

Autumn Weather 141 



A Thousand More Verses. 



THE CHRISTMAS BELLS' MISSION. 

Sadness and Gladnes e walk 

together, 

As oft they had done before: 
Sadness was sighing, and Gladness reply- 
ing 
With jewels of laughter galo: 
"How on this earth can you find any 
mirth. 
When sorrow is sown in your sight " 
"How can you sigh," was the merry reply, 
"When all of the world is so bright?" 

Jauntily swinging, the Christmas bells' 
ringing. 
Came merrily sweet to the ear: 
9 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Sadness, unheeding despondency's plead- 
ing, 
Sent upward a sweet smile of cheer. 
But Gladness a tear dropped, warm and 
sincere, 
For the pain that the Christ-Martyr 
bore; 
And each miw the other: and Sadness 
and Gladness 
Twined arms, and were friends ever- 
more. 



KT 



10 



NEW YEAR AND OLD YEAR. 



NEW YEAR AND OLD YEAR. 

Said New Year to Old Year, 

"Of all you arc bereft." 
Said Old Year to New Yea 

"I still have mem'ries left." 

Said New Year to Old Year, 
What rank you all above 

Said Old Year to New Year. 

"The Friends I loved and low." 



;m; 



11 



Dancing, done rightly, is an attractive ana 
healthful custom. Who docs not lore to 

roup of children engaged in tJiis beautiful 
arid innocent sport? 

But when the amusement is employed to 
plant rile seeds of passion that may soon 
Spring into plants of shame and woe, the com- 
mon decency of a nation must regulate it 
and restrain it, if that nation wishes to lire. 

If all the dances could boast of as happy 
and beneficial a termination as the one rudely 
described as occurring in the "Heathen Na- 
tion ," there would be no supervision or re- 
straint necessary. 



THE DRAGON'S CHRISTMAS DA 



THE DEACONS CHRISTMAS DANCE. 

Brother, do you recoil set, in some spiritu- 

ual vacation, 
Of the Christmas night we spent, over in 

the "Heathen Nation"? 
(That was what our people called it, since 

it hadn't the same appearin' 
As a place that antedated it a dozen years 

in clearin'). 
[So said Ahab Adams, banker—owning 

holdings few could purchase, 
To his brother, leading pastor 'mongst a 

hundred city churches.] 

Those hard times out in the wood-lots 

how as boys we used to pass 'em! 

Not a person went ag'in us, but we had 
the words to sass 'em ! 

'Ceptin' Dad and Mother: Dad held with- 
in the voice ingredients 
13 



A THOUSAND WORE VERS1 

That could close the dictionary on all 

words except obedience. 
And amongst the other orders this one 

through my memory glances: 
Whatsoever else you do, don't you go 

to any dances 

Christmas came — we 'tended church; 
learned once more that we was sin- 
ners; 

Had a mother-meal at home — food enough 
for fifteen dinners; 

Fed the horses, stalled the cattle, soothed 
small pains that shot across us, 

An' went up to bed at nine, by the clock 
that helped to boss us. 

Then I recollect you, brother — my! who 

now would ever think it! 
Whispered, "Youth is full of syrup: let 

us go and help to drink it!" 
Then we sneaked out of the window — 

Still as chaos 'fore creation — 
Startin' for a Christmas dance — over in 

the "Heathen Nation." 
14 



t 1 1 r m 

Mercy! didn't it make a flutter, when the 

people saw appearin' 
Four strong husky youthful Christians, 

come from Deacon Adams' clearin'! 
Still those sinners — not disposed t 

in' time with small su: 
Didn't let us interfere with the reg'lar 

exercises: 
They rushed to us good an' hearty — not 

as brands plucked from the burnin' 
But as Deacon Adams' prisoners from 

cold storage now returnin'. 
An' the fiddle — how it thrilled us! — every 

kind of thought revealin': 
Scoldin', cryin', grumblin', shoutin', whis- 

p'rin', singin', warblin', squealin' — 
Brother, have you any wonder, as we read 

those memory-pages, 
That we fellers went to dancin' jest as if 

we danced for wages? 

Was't a wonder that we shrunk, appre- 
hensive 'mid the laughter, 
IS 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

When our straight-browed father rushed 

in — havin' followed slyly after? 
Any wonder if the father, when he felt 

the animation 
From the heads and hearts and heels of 

that risin' generation, 
When he saw them cleanly dancin' till 

the timbers seemed to totter, 
Recollected youthful pastimes, when his 

blood was somewhat hotter? 
'Special'}' when a fair-faced girl, with a 

red head like a beacon, 
meed up softly to him, saying, "Dance 

a hornpipe with me, Deacon?" 

I- it any wonder that he threw all 

restraint aside, untethered, 
An' let loose a hundr'd antics that for 

forty years he'd gathered? 
Brother, don't you recollect how he 

whirled an' jumped an' twisted? 
He showed them there people capers that 

they didn't know existed. 
16 



THE DEACON'S CHRISTMAS DANCE. 

An' he murmured unto me, in the red-hot 

of the revel, 
"David danced before the Lord — I will 

try it on the devil !" 

Everybody on the job cheered our Dad 

like all creation: 
He was soon the crackerjack of the 

whole dumbed Heathen Nation! 

But remember our surprise an' the laughs 

that jumped around us, 
When our dear old mother entered — bav- 
in' missed an' chased an' found 
But she al'ays had some fun layin' round 

with her religion: 
An' her toes took wings forthwith, that 

would give points to a pigeon! 
She eclipsed the red-head gal — took the 

cake without much bother, 
Makin' folks around there love her — even 

more than they did father. 
Well, I guess you'll hev to own it, that 

'ere fast night was a sprinter! 
17 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

And the sort of genial climate that you 
don't get every winter! 

That was Dads an' Mom's last dancin': 

but they brewed such admiration, 
That their influence never died in that 

wicked Heathen Nation: 
An' you recollect, when Dad a revival 

there inserted, 
More than half the folks that lived near, 

swung right in an' got converted. 
Then you says — "In cornerin' sinners, do 

not feel too much above 'em: 
Kind of make 'em understand that, like 

David, you're one of 'em." 



18 



THE DICTAGRAPH. 



THE DICTAGRAPH 

"// can be placed in almost an, with- 

out the occupants kn - 

Dictagraph — dictagraph — 

You will make some people laugh, 

You will make more pc - q\ 

When around their words you c 

Was the . Par or nigh, 

Such a shrewd and subtle sj 

Lov^ .1 have long forbidden 

Small boys under sofas hidden. 

Rut you now will soon condemn 

Something that will discount them. 

Guests that throng the big hotel. 

Watch its nooks and crannies well; 

Talk not of your own affairs — 

Listeners may be down-stairs. 

Counseling villains, low and high, 

Keep a lookout for the spy; 

If you have not done so yet. 

Learn the deaf-dumb alphabet. 

19 



Just before the child happens in some way 
or other to lose the sweet and winsome Santa 
Claas superstition, he is a wonderfully inter- 
esting study, in his combination of the actual 

and the legendary. The Santa Claus story is 
one that the world will not willingly let die. 
Whether the enterprising little fellow rcp- 
Iging in the following reflec- 
tions, knows the whole truth, in Santa Claus 
. or a part oj it. or none of it, way he 
left to the imagination of the reader — who 
probably can remember at about what time 
he himself [or she herself) learned the real 
state of such matters. Of course we all wish 
it were true. 



TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. 



TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. 

Ef I was only Santa Claus 

A Christmas eve all through, 
On your tin-type I'd show you what 

A five-year old could do! 
They say that boys is smarter n 

Than former fav'ritc sons — 
I ruther judge that that perhaps 

Depends upon the one 
But anyway 1 think I know 

How dif'rent it would be, 
Ef I was only Santa Claus, 

An' Santa Claus was mc 

I wouldn't have no deers nor sleds 
Them's happened long enough : 

I'd build an air-ship big an' deep 
To carry lots of stuff; 

An' Jack could run one — so he says 
An' he's the one ter know — 
21 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

An' then at nine p. in. I'd up 
An' yell out "Let her go!" 

An' we could take ten times as much 
As if we had a sled. 

An' use a wireless telegraph, 
An' order goods ahead. 

No chimney-stunts for mine! I'd have 

To go along with me, 
A good converted burglar, that 

Could pick the locks, you see: 
An' then I'd crawl up to the kids, 

An' use my new Hash light, 
An' look their faces o'er an' see 

What gifts would hit 'em right; 
An' then I'd wish that I could watch 

An' see their wake-up joys, 
An' give 'bout twice as much to girls 

As what I would to boys; 

An' I don't b'lieve I'd call upon 

The richest chil'ren first; 
I'd go among the tots I thought 

Was needin' me the worst. 
22 



TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. 

I'd say these gilt-edged kids has pops 

To buy their Chris'mas stuff. 
Though I'll leave somethin' to piece out. 

If they don't git enough; 
But most of all the traps shall go 

In stockins coarse, I'd - 
I'd bust 'em all! an' leave more 

To start 'em in next day . 

Then there's some folks, I've he old 

That kids again they : 

They'd all git somethin' took to em. 
If Santa Claus was me. 

I'd make 'em think of good old time- 
When friends that they had got, 

Would give 'em things no matter if 
Twas Chris'mas day or not. 

I'd sure have somethin' they would need 
Ol'-fashioned, but first-rate: 

Twould be a good chance to close out 
Things not quite up to date. 

An' then I'd go to him himself: 
An' wake him up, an' say, 
25 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

"Dear Santa Claus you've made more 
bright 

Full many a Christmas day! 
I've brought a present here I hope 

You'll take from me all right; 
It's just a kiss — like I give Pop 

When he comes home at night. 
An' I shall pray, when I get back, 

That you will prosp'rous be, 
An' buy an airship of your own, 

An' alwavs send for me." 




24 



don't let them bury me deep. 



DON'T LET THEM BURY ME DEEP. 
(One Little Girl's Last 11 

Lift me a bit in my bed, father, 

Press your warm lip to my cheek. 
Put your arms under my head, father, 

I am so tired and so weak! 
I cannot stay long awake, now — 

Many a night I shall sleep! — 
Promise one thing for my sake, now — 

Don't let them bury me deep! 

Look! who has come for me now, father, 

Standing so near to my bed? 
Some one is kissing my brow, father, 

Mother, I thought you were dead! 
See! she is smiling so bright to you, 

Motions to us not to weep! 
Tis not "good-bye" but "good-night" to 
you, 

They cannot bury me deep! 
25 



The first railroad-trains were interesting 
but prosaie affairs. The locomotive ivas a 
rude boiler with a primitive smokestack at 
one end, and a wood box at the other — all 
traveling at a moderate pace, on a track of 
wooden rails. The ears were mere stage- 
coaches tied to each other. There was much 
interest in the enterprise, but no sentiment. 

Xow, there is a most wonderful change in 
that respect, as in others. The railroad is 
as full of romance and sentiment, as is the 
ocean. The locomotive is often the sweet- 
heart of the driver. The guild of railroad- 
toilers has its loves, its hates, its fancies, 
its superstitions. Ghosts are not uncom- 
monly seen by railroad folk, or their fancies. 
Legends abound among them, full of senti- 
ment. 



THE BELLE OF IMF. NFW YEAR. 



THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. 
(Veteran Engine-driver's Story.) 

Oh, no! I'm not toiling on railroads, 

although I wasn't built for to shirk: 
I just limp around in the shops, here, and 

criticise other folks' work. 
And there's plenty more classy can do 

that and haven't got my chance to 

explain 
And never went down an embankment, 

along with an engine or train. 

Twas on a bright morning — the New Year 

of Eighteen and eighty, and one: 
The Boss of our shop says, "An engine 

blue-blooded as sin, is just done: 
And who shall we get for to drive her, 

that's shown he can dare and can do? 
My Boss says his Boss says the honor is 

mostly pertainin' to you. 
21 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

"You take her, and court her, and keep 

her, as long, let it be understood, 
As you two can manage together, and do 

what we call 'making good'; 
And don't fret her too much at starting — 

an engine's a woman, you know; 
The more that you study her temper, the 

better at last she will go. 

"This here is a love-child: there's people 
that works in the place, don't for- 
get. 

Put part of their souls in her make-up, to 
have h^r the niftiest yet. 

And when they do that for an engine, the 
fact is close-guessed, if not known, 

That they pile up a sort of prescription, 
that gives her a soul of her own." 

I went in there where she was standing; 
I looked for first time in her eyes, 

The boys, they had kept her in cover, God 
bless 'em, their friend to surprise; 

And if there was ever an engine that mor- 
tals an angel might call, 
28 



THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. 

Twas her that stood there 'mongst the 
others — the certified Queen of them 
all. 

I said "Shall we travel together, my 

Beauty?" ('twas foolish, I guess) 
But out of her glorious splendor, I thought 

that she smiled me a "Yes"; 
Her picture was taken, in grand size; that 

night, to the big dance it came : 
I christened her "Belle of the New 

Year" — and that was thereafter her 

name. 

My best girl, she almost grew jealous: she 
says, with her dear little pout, 

"You'd better go marry this wonder you're 
thinking and raving about: 

I wish she'd get smashed!" then a mo- 
ment, her face was like snow to the 
view : 

And she clasped my hand, saying, "Forget 
it! for that would perhaps murder 
you!" 

29 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Well, Belle and I journeyed together, two 

years, through the storm and the sun, 
With a love which is — what is the word 

for't? "Platonic", I think is the one; 
And she learned to talk back to me often: 

she knew how to laugh and be sad, 
And to sulk, and to give me my lesson, 

when things veered a bit to the bad. 

But never was schedules filled sleeker, or 

passengers treated more grand, 
Than they was by the "Belle of the New 

Year" with me holding fast to her 

hand; 
And naver was confidence closer, that 

more and more steadfastly grew, 
Than that which gained slowly and surely, 

and then made its home with us two. 

Still, life has its curves unexpected, and 
bridges to trap you and me; 

And that was a terrible winter — of eigh- 
teen and eighty and three: 

Two years we had been the star-sprinters, 
in sunshine, and starlight, and shade, 
30 



THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. 

And compliments gemmed us like roses, 
'most all of the journeys we made. 

And that night, we scrapped with a 
blizzard, that evertything ugly con- 
tained! 

But the "Belle of the New Year" kept 
working, and never one second com- 
plained; 

Not an inch could we see from the pilot; 
but still we was bound to "make 
good"; 

And work to our time-card as nearly as, 
battling that snow-storm, we could. 

"Keep up to your best, my brave beauty!" 

I yelled, and believed she could 

hear, 
"It isn't very far to the term'nus — the rest 

and the shelter are near." 
But a broken rail— sneak-thief of safety! 

— the Belle drew a long wailing 

breath, 
Then fell on her side, and went rolling a 

hundred feet down to her death. 
31 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

She bravely wrenched free from the 

coaches — the passengers stayed safe 

and sound, 
The fireman jumped into the darkness — 

we buried him when he was found; 
But the Belle wrapped her dear arms 

around me, as together we made the 

grim dive; 
And my best girl came next day there and 

found me — all crippled, and bruised 

— but alive. 

buried the Belle in a garden: 'twas 

sentiment, maybe you'll say, 
But what are the goods of life good for, if 

one blocks the heart's right of way? 
I built up a monument o'er her, and oft 

my best girl — now my wife — 
Strews flowers o'er the Belle of the New 

Year, and thanks her for saving my 

life. 



32 



A PROPHECY. 



A PROPHECY. 

Have you seen the balloon vieing 
With the lofty clouds in Hying? 
Or the aeroplane's resistance 
To the tyrannies of distance? 
How those hardy, fearless range 
Grope their paths through deadly dangers! 
How their mother Earth oft maims them, 
When, at times she rudely claims them! 
Or, in bonds no power can sever, 
Clasps them to her heart forever! 
Low beneath the sad winds' sighing, 
Scores of them are meekly lying — 
They who sped through many a nation. 
O'er applause and admration. 
But time comes, when thousands gaily 
Those grand heights will traverse daily. 



33 



This poem was read at a "Valentine Break- 
w York. Among the many that 
were presented there, it was mentioned as 
the only sad one. 

And yet. the fact was excused, and kind 
words came from all parts of the spacious 
hall of feasting: for it was known that the 
author had very recently sustained one of 
the most terrible losses in the world, and 
there were not a few present, who knew by 
experience what that meant. 



A VALENTINE TO HEAVEN. 



A VALENTINE TO HEAVEN. 

I know not how these lines to send, 

Dear soul that took the starward flight — 
And yet our Past a hope doth lend 

That thou canst read me as I write. 
And if not so, thou yet wilt know 

These whispers that are thine and mine: 
For God hath ways to make it so — 

And thou shalt be my valentine. 

But if by some good messenger 

This word must seek thy cherished 
name, 
Thy heart, I hope, will yet infer 

Wherefrom the earthly message came: 
Some little ways of thought or phrase — 

Some hidden thrill 'twixt line and line, 
That we two knew in olden days — 

Will tell who wrote the valentine. 
35 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Sweet one, they cannot make me fear 

That stately Heaven can check thy glee, 
Or bar me from the comrade-cheer 

That made the earth like Heaven to me! 
For e'en amid thy toil to rid 

Of pain and sin our suff'ring race, 
Oft came th* merry laugh unbid, 

That never lost its girlhood-grace. 

So while the silver jest goes round, 

And while the air gives gold of mirth, 
I feel thy h^art may yet be found 

Among the merriments of earth. 
Heaven were a task, could I not bask 

Within that merry glance of thine: 
And so, 'twixt smile; and t^ar, I ask 

Thee, Dear, to he my Valentine! 



36 



THE LONG LENT-TIDE. 



THE LONG LENT-TIDE. 

She sat in the parlor, a maiden onoe 
more — 
Uncrimped, and unrouged, and un- 
gloved: 
But her sweet face a frown of anxiety 
wore, 
As she gazed at the man that she loved. 
"Oh what can I do to my soul to be true 
She was murmuring, over and o'er, 
"So's to suffer in ways for the d( 
Lenten da\ 
That I never have suffered before? 

4 T have banished the sweetmeats that 
shortened the day — 
All the gems of the palate I shun: 
And my pearls and my diamonds cower 
away, 
From the light of the lamps and the 
sun. 

37 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

And the thrill-haunted halls and the plays 
and the balls 
And the opera's voices of flame. 
Are as nothing to me: or at most they 
must be 
On the doubly-locked door, just a 
name! 

But I do not as yet feel that I have 
attained 
What the spirit of sacrifice meant; 
That my soul in its fights with my body 
has gained 
All the discipline offered by Lent. 
I depend upon you: tell me something 
to do 
That of sacrifice true is a part!" — 
Twas the maiden's request, of the man 
she loved best, 
And the one she had robbed of his 
heart. 

Then he smiling said, "That which you 
love best, my dear, 
Excepting your family ties, 
38 



THE LONG LENT-TIDE. 

You should fling from your life for a 
week and a year, 
If on wings of the soul you would rise." 
And she said, 'That is you! and 'tis only 
my due, 
That you go, till the sad time is spent! 
If you love me, dear, now help me keep 
the strange vo 
And with heart bowed in sadness, he 
went. 







39 



Upon Thomas Jefferson's venerable head 
are heaped the praise and the blame of our 
Fourth-of-July tumult and racket. He it 
was who first suggested that firecrackers 

should be bumed y cannon fired, and pyro- 
technics let loose on the anniversary of 
our nation's birth. Perhaps he regretted it, 
when he grew old and infirm. 

The recent reforms in that respect are no 
doubt best for the public good: the "Safe 
and Sane Fourth" is spreading — to the 
nation s benefit and the surgeon's loss. 

But no one can help sympathizing with 
the poor urchin, one of whose most delicious 
luxuries of life is, to make a noise. 



THE FIRECRACKER EOY. 



THE FIRECRACKER BOY. 

On the steps of a house, still and sad as a 
mouse 
With no goods to destroy, 
Unreservedly pained at the stillness that 
reigned, 
Sat the firecracker boy. 
'There is nothin' to do, all this Fourth 
o'J'ly through," 
He said, glancing around: 
"There is no proper way for to work or 
to play, 
If you can't make no sound! 
You can set in deep thought how George 
Wash'ton once fought, 
An' didn't never tell lies; 
An' how he — an' some more — waded 
knee-deep in gore, 
Almost up to their eyes; 
41 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

You can say 'No one swipes any sparklers 
or stripes 
From the banner 't means Us, 
Or to give it display in.no improper way, 

If they don't want a fuss;' 
We can tell how our gran'thers fit worse 
than wild panthers, 
Concernin' this flag, 
Which, in school, when we studied, no 
kid that's full-blooded, 
Could help but to brag; 
We can sit an' say 's'posin' there rushed 
any foes in 
To do us some dirt, 
We would straighten up stiff, an' take part 
in the tiff, 
Though we went dead or hurt'; 
We kin sit an' reflect in a manner correct, 

Feelin' Patr'tism's thrill, 
An' it's all straight an' true: but what 
good kin it do, 
Ef we've got to keep still? 

"An' these folks that forbid us to lift up 
the lid 

42 



THE FIRECRACKER BOY. 

In the old-fashioned way, 
They can noise up an' down, through the 
country or town, 
Ev'ry night — ev'ry day; 
An' their mob'les kin creak an' their 
whistles kin speak, 
Sayin' 'Out of the way!' 
An' we boys hev to mind 'em, or lay down 
behind 'em, 
Dead, 'fore we are gray. 

"An the bands' horns can sing like some 
many-voiced thing. 
An' the drummers kin pound, 
An' there's no one I see 'cept us men 
that's to be, 
Re'lly stinted in sound: 
An' the day it is free, jest as fur's I kin 
see, 
In the general joy. 
For all hands to make noise — 'ceptin' only 
jest boys!" 
Moaned the firecracker boy. 



43 



It would be interesting^ to sonic one who 
had nothing else to do, if he would audit up 
the months of the year, and of all years, and 
learn which had produeed the most distin- 
guished people. Perhaps the result might 
even hare a scientific value. 

I happened to write this in August, and 
used such material as eame to my mind: but 
could with a little research and patience with 
myself \ have extended the poem into several 
pages more. And even then, the record 
might be surpassed by other months. 



CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. 



CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. 

August — August — stormy or fair! 
What do you bring in your sultry air? 
Tender mornings and starlit skies — 
Golden clouds with the glad sunrise; 
Cooling zephyrs and stifling heats — 
Thunders rolling in lofty street 
Lightning aiming at towers and trees — 
Chill rains dripping from floating seas. 

August — August — stormy or fair! 
What have you seen men do and dare?- 
Oh, it was on my third bright day, 
Gallant Columbus marked his way 
Far to the empire yet to be, 
Out where the sunset kissed the sea: 
He had no nation when all was done, 
But he had found a place for one. 

August, August, stormy or fair. 
When did you give the world despair ?- 
45 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Once in my midst, an August morn 
Told that a Bonaparte was born: 
One that would swim Ambition's flood — 
One that would drench the earth with 

blood: 
Yet with his sword would cut in twain 
Many a petty tyrant's chain. 

August, August, stormy or fair, 

When did a wizard stroke your hair? — 

Once, when my days were half way 

through, 
Came a child from the far-off blue — 
Soon to cover with laurels grand, 
All the hills of his fatherland. 
That was the Scottish Walter Scott: 
Never his name will be forgot! 

August, August, stormy or fair, 

What have you more that is sweet and 

rare? — 
Millions of babies: born to bless 
This great land in its comeliness, 
46 



CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. 

Or by Indolence' wiles or worse, 
Making their coming into a curse. 
Will their staying be ill, or well? — 
God and the world will some time tell. 







4? 



\< r< i h is a more terrible and portentous 
■ an- disaster taken place, than the one a 
thousand miles east of New York, on the 
night of April 15. All elasses of society 
were represented in this sea-slau filter ; all 
tes of mentality were robbed away from 
the earth. I say this iras portentous, for it 
indicated that no ship could for many years, 
if ever, be built large enough and strong 
enough to be surely sate from destruction 
from the ocean. 



48 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 

The night is a vision of splendor; the 

stars hang in clusters on high; 
The oft-troubled ocean is resting i\nd 

smiles at her sister, the sky. 
The storms that have fought through the 

winter from battle's confusion arc 

free; 
And only the children of zephyrs arc 

playing about on the sea. 
What more could wild wastes of the 

waters throw into a sweet silent 

song, 
To welcome the pilgrims of pleasure that 

traverse their regions along? 
What less could they do in that star- 
light so strangely unclouded and 

bright, 
To guard 'gainst the traps that are waiting 

to plunge a whole world into night? 
49 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Here glows on this sea's mottled surface 

a mammoth of beauty and grace: 
This is not a ship, but a palace, that flits 

through the regions of space! 
It carries in untold abundance all things 

that the fancy can please — 
Few kings in this world ever journey sur- 
rounded with splendors like these. 
No wish and no whim but is granted from 

only a gesture or word, 
If also the yellow disc's rattle, or rustling 

of bank-notes be heard. 
The rest-rooms are lavish and stately; the 

banquet-halls silver-and-white ; 
The couches that nourish the slumbers, 

are beautiful nests of delight. 
And all of this grandeur seems saying, in 

words at the deep waters cast, 
"Bow low to proud man, ancient Ocean! 

— your terrors are conquered at 

last!" 

What names does this argosy carry: — the 
paltry? — the mean? — the unknown? 
50 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 

Or such as the world has already through 
many vast distances thrown? 

It carries a true Peace Apostle, who 
fought his way up toward the sun, 

And, scanning two worlds, conjured mar- 
vels in helping the uplift of one; 

It carries a capital's idol — a boon to a 
President's sight — 

Because he is not upon one day, hut all 
days, a chivalrous knight; 

It carries some makers of fortunes, some 
rulers of monies and marts, 

Who keep their great riches in wide 
hands, and not in the depths of their 
hearts; 

It carries the pure souls of women whom 
angels are watching tonight, 

And who in the hour when earth dark- 
ens, will make even Heaven more 
bright: 

It carries its fugitive hundreds, who in 
their own homes were oppressed, 

But now grand air-castles are building, 
away in the glittering West; 
51 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

It carries the day-by-day toiler, who all 
of his muscle must give, 

For prosperous mortals' permission that 
he and his loved ones may live; 

Rut all are to learn the great lesson — 
they long should have known, pru- 
dence deems — 

That man cannot conquer the oceans, 
except in illusory dreams. 

O ship-chiefs! the world has two oceans! 

— the one to your efforts gives way — 
The other is frozen to mountains that 

trap you for many a day. 
Just now watchful men through the ether 

flashed tidings of woe in your path: 
Why rush at the half-hidden monsters, as 

if you were seeking their wrath? 
Though you for the coining of money 

your own lives to venture are prone, 
What right have you over these thousands 

who lent you the care of their own? 

O ship-chiefs, your ways are mysterious: 
they give your long training the lie; 

52 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 

What mandate has told you to hasten, with 
murderous danger so nigh? 

Have you not, when peril was frowning, 
or welcome security smiled, 

Been taught the great axiom that caution 
and safety are parent and child? 

The ship races on: its vast regions arc 

flooded with billows of light; 
Till, wearied with even the good die 

some sojourners welcome the night, 
While others still cling to their revels. 

and plunging in pleasure more deep. 
Look forward as oft in the home life, for 

small hours to soothe them asleep. 
But many a grave man has handed to 

darkness the care of his cares, 
And many a child has seen Heaven 

through clear unstained windows of 

prayers, 
And many a woman o'er-wearied, the 

sojourn of Morpheus has blessed, 
So she to the dictums of fashion can fling 

some defiance, and rest; 
53 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

But all look ahead to one morning when, 
nearing the spires and the domes, 

They leave with new feelings of freedom, 
this grand floating home, for their 
homes. 

What craft looms upon the horizon, with 
chilling and ominous breath? 

It sailed from white deserts of North 
Land — it carries a cargo of death. 

It needs not of chart or of compass: it 
wrecks not of grief or of pain; 

It spares not the dead or the living — it 
counts not the lists of its slain. 

O watchman be keen to your duty! These 
moments are treasures untold! 

For time at a stress has a value not reck- 
oned in silver or gold. 

O man you have thrown a defiance at all 
that destruction can do, 

Your brothers and sisters are praying the 
boasts of your prowess be true! 

O tranquil but pitiless ocean! your cruel- 
est storm-clouds are nought 
54 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 

To this starlit evening that flashes on ice- 
mantled graves dearly bought! 

This fair night will hear moans of anguish 
that soon must encompass the world: 

Not tossed, this vast home on the waters, 
'gainst billows tumultously hurled, 

But steadily cov'ring the false hopes of 
frighted humanity o'er, 

The ship from its flight o'er the billows 
must fall to the sea's solemn floor. 

Nought, nought but the heart can e'r pic- 
ture the agonies known and un- 
known, 

That throng through the night's desolation, 
with horrors unspeakable strown: 

The wrenching from halls of the banquet, 
to roofs of the desolate wave; 

The wearisome watching for rescue, to 
come from the far-distant brave; 

The crushing of new-made devices that 
serve not to save, but to kill, 

The life-boats that turn into death-boats, 

for lacking of seamanship skill; 

55 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

The hurried and agonized partings that 

come with this terrible doom, 
And shroud the sweet love of a lifetime 

by changing the sea to a tomb; 
The cry of the child for its parent, the 

wife's and the husband's vain call, 
The prayers of the righteous invoking the 

aid of the Father of all; 
The fragile flotillas with women too brave 

their own sorrow to tell, 
Like slaves at the galley-oars toiling, still 

hoping that all will be well; 
The grief of the half-thousand toilers who, 

prisoned with clinging bolts nigh, 
Have nought they can do for escaping 

except in that prison to die; 
The tremulous strains of musicians, who, 

just from the pleasure-hall's glare, 
Creep "Nearer to God", when around 

them are dancing the ghosts of 

despair; 
The cries of the maimed and the dying, 

who languish o'er death-beds of 

waves, 

56 



THE WRECK OF THE LINER. 

On ruins of yesterday's splendor that 
soon are to dig them their graves; 

O great God! You saw all this anguish, 
You deemed it was best to be s 

But all for the best is intended: You 
know what we never can know. 




57 



The birds that have travelled so long 
between the unfeathered raees and the sky, 
cannot understand tlie balloon and the aero- 
plane. The smaller ones give these formid- 
able-looking engines of the air a wide berth, 
while the larger and more powerful ones 
sometimes attach them and their occupants. 

As the science of Aviation continues to 
make progress, birds of all sizes will no 
doubt learn to get out of the way as soon as 
they can, when they view an air-craft ap- 
proaching: and we may yet see bird-hunts 
from aeroplanes or dirigibles, as one of the 
approved sports of the day. 



EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. 



EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. 

Who are you, speeding along this way 

Above my head? 
Why do you come to the clouds today? 

The eagle said. 
Had you not heard that pathways high 
Only were made for such as I? 
Did you not know that from your birth, 
You were appointed to walk the earth? 
Do as you long were wont to do : 
Stab my mountains and creep them 

through; 
Swim your rivers or bridge them o'er; 
Ferry the seas from shore to shore ; 
Plunge through halls of a starless deep, 
Where the hosts of the tempests sleep 

And count their dead; 
But you were made not, as was I, 
On the wings of the winds to fly! 

The eagle said. 

59 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

What in my country do you seek? 
What is of wealth on the mountain peak? 
Which of the gems has it begot? 
Where is its gold, excepting what 

The sun has shed, 
You who squander the hoards you save — 
Haughty slaves of the "yellow slave"? 

The Eagle said. 
Dig in the earth for earth that buys: 
Clutch with your greedy hands and eyes, 
What, if it win your poor heart, will 
Serve but to make you greedier still — 

By food unfed; 
What do you care for the sky above 
Mora than to aid your own self-love? 

The eagle said. 
Even your daring flight today — 
So the gossiping birdlets say, 

With gold is wed: 
You, a hero of skies, indeed! 
Back to your stony dens of greed, 

By avarice fed! 

Then did the bird, with beak and wing, 
60 



EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. 

Straight at the throat of the airman 

spring, 
Looking a rage he could not speak, 
Tearing away with claws and beak. 
But from the bold intruder came 
Five sharp volleys of blinding flame, 

And piercing lead: 
Symbol of heroism, beware! 
Doff the emperorship of air! 

The echoes said. 

Maimed and bleeding, and sick with 

hate, 
Fluttered the bird to his Berce-eyed 

mate, 
Whsre, on a ragged rock and gray, 
She with her callow fledgelings lay. 
Do not again such conflict dare, 
Screamed this lioness of the air: 
Men will yet journey here in crowds: 
You are no more the King of Clouds. 
Man is the only mortal who 
Whate'er he wills to do, will do. 
Though he be wayward oft, and wild, 
61 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Still he is God's own well-loved child- 

From angels bred: 
If he will only do and dare, 
He can yet rule Earth, Sea, and Air! 

The eagless said. 




62 



THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. 



THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. 

Look upward! the sea-bird is coming to 
town ! 
He has left his wide home floored with 
billows of blue, 
And is winging invisible paths up and 
down, 
O'er our river that cleaves the great 
city in two. 
O'er the long wave that dashes to sea- 
ward each day, 
Long miles toward the sunrise; then 
fights its way back 
Through oceans of men that are flinging 
the spray 
Of love and of hate— gifts and greed— 
on their track. 
From great lofty windows, proud mortal; 
gaze where 

63 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

This eagle-like bird spurns the roofs for 

the air! 
How he laughs and screams downward at 

domes and at spires! 
How he scorns all the goals of mens 

deeds and desires! 
For he heeds not the splendors beneath 

him — 
Or clouds that with bays might en- 
wreath him: 
He thinks of the callow young children at 

home 
At his nest in the rocks where the white 

breakers foam, 
His children — so weak and so helpless are 

they! 
And he di earns his way homeward still 

clutching his prey, 
Dreams of miniature sea-birds who'll grasp 

with delight 
The treasures he brings from his far 

speedy flight. 

How his life is a strife and a play — 
64 



THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. 

Bird spun from the sun and the clay! 
He can float — feathered boat — on the 

sea, 
Though the waves — restless graves — 

clamber free; 
He can fly toward the sky in his mirth, 
Though the clouds — leaden shrouds — 

clothe the earth; 
He can pierce through the fierce light- 
ning's glare — 
He can sleep in the deep thund'rou- 
air. 
His mattress the spray and his pillow his 

breast, 
And the whole heaving ocean the couch 

of his rest. 
Tis as if a poor crushed-down and earth- 
burdened soul 
In a prison of needs- in a tyrant's con- 
trol— 
Whose body away from the spirit had 

died, 
Had now sprung to the freedom long 
sadly denied! 
65 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Safe from harm let him fly! for we mind 

of sad loss, 
When the famed Ancient Mariner's dead 

albatross 
With the wound of the cross-bow upon 

him, still threw 
The black luck of death on a bold, merry 

crew. 
Free and proud let him swim! for the 

treasures bel6w 
In the great tossing deep, where he glides 

to and fro, 
Gathered year after year, since The Ship 

had its birth, 
Far surpasses in wealth all the cities of 
earth. 
Come again in our ken, bird of cheer! 
"Luck" hath claim to thy name: bring 

it here! 
Tell our home — tell this dome-bordered 

shore — 
To be great is its fate evermore; 
That no gale shall bewail its re- 
treats — 

66 



THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. 

And no earthquake have birth in its 
streets; 

That no pestilence threading its joy-loving 
throngs, 

Shall turn its gay measures to funeral- 
songs; 

That no foe will build deaths on its wave- 
girded walls, 

Or strew fear and despair through its 
homes and its halls, 

From the far-away sea and their "rockets' 
red glare", 

Or the ominous bird-ships that now sail 

the air; 
That 'twill teach the great truth for the 

whole world to see, 
How a city can live, though its subjects 

be free! 

And, menacing meanness and welcoming 

worth, 
Be greatest of all the great cities of earth ! 



67 



How can this country fail to become one 
of the best educated ones in the world, as 
Jong as people are willing to make such sac- 
rifices for their children ? 

Who but must admire their self -abnegation 
in favor of those who are coming on to fill 
their places? 

Of course, sometimes, they overdo it: and 
it strikes me these parents did. 



- = = '/r?^'<r?^'A- 



EDUCATING THE FAMILY. 



EDUCATING THE FAMILY. 

Go you to bed now, Olga, and get you a 

good night's rest: 
Needed we'll be tomorrow, and both must 

do our best. 
Summer is well near over — the days will 

soon be cool; 
Fix must we now the children, and start 

them off for school. 

Dorothy she'll be going a part of every 

day, 
Out to a kindergarten, to teach her how 

to play: 
Never need to worry at all to choose her 

fun — 
Even a part of the playing is by the 

teacher done. 

69 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Tommy he is in sixth grade: you hardly 
would suppose 

Children could ever learn half the little 
rascal knows! 

Thirteen separate studies he had, or very 
near: 

And I am told the. number will be in- 
creased, this year. 

Emily's in the grammar school: the cun- 
ning little sage! 

Knows some several times more than I 
did at her age; 

Knows who she's going to marry, and 
leaves it me to learn; 

Acts and talks like really 'twas none of 
my concern. 

Johnny is, in the high school: it's living 

life anew, 
When that brilliant darling gives me an 

interview! 
As he comes in to dinner, his airs are all 

so fine! 

70 



EDUCATING THE FAMILY. 

Seems as if we'd invited some duke or 
prince to dine. 

Lionel's off for college — he's one of their 

smartest smart: 
He has been studying football, and knows 

it all by heart. 
Also the Greek and Latin: which no one 

need condemn, 
But which, if he did not study, 'twould be 

the worse for them. 

Samuel, he's a graduate — learned all they 

have to tell — 
Now again he is with us, and tired, and 

not so well. 
Have you forgotten, Olga? — I'll tell you 

once more, then — 
Have his breakfast ready, in case that he 

wakes at ten. 

As for their father and mother — we've 

had some years ago 
All the old-fashioned learning on things 

we need to know; 
71 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

But we are bound that our children, what- 

e'er their future fate, 
Must have an education, and have it up 

to date. 




72 



TO THE WIZARD OF ALBION. 



TO THE WIZARD OF ALBION. 

Hail, Dickens! if in yonder star-girt land. 
Thou canst but wander through its 

streets and vales, 
And then before the breathless millions 

stand, 
And tell thy merry and pathetic tale-. 
If thou canst still thy daily toil prolong, 
Plead for the right, and battle with the 

wrong, 
The happiness of Heaven will round thee 

spread, 
For thou thy path Heaven-given still wilt 

tread. 



73 



It is stated in holy writ that he who calls 
his brother a fool, is in danger of something 
very much hotter even than the remark; but 
there may be cases where the fool himself 
is not entirely outside of danger. 

Certainly, any one who meanders through 
life with no regard for the rights or comfort, 
or even the lives of others, deserves some 
kind of punishment, either in this world or 
the next — maybe both. 



THE FOOL THAT DROPS THE MATCH. 



THE FOOL THAT DROPS THE 
MATCH. 

It has been said, that anywhere, 

The biggest fool afloat, 
Is he who makes a rocking-chair 

Of some one else's boat: 
But equal with him in the race, 

The eggs of woe to hatch, 
Is, in unknown or known disgrace, 

The fool that drops the match. 

What is't to him, if, in his haste 

A fragrant weed to try, 
The folds of woman's pride and taste 

Hang dangerously nigh? 
What if a precious life recede 

With flame-enhanced despatch? 
He did not do the shameful deed: 

He only dropped a match. 
75 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

What is't to him, if stores of wealth 

In flame may disappear. 
Or friends that walked in joy and health, 

May nevermore come near? 
What if explosions upward spring, 

A hundred lives to snatch? 
He didn't do much of anything: 

He only dropped a match. 

Incendiary- guilty one 

(As yet not doing time) 
You'll learn the lesson, ere you're done, 

That carelessness is crime. 
But when your future home you view, 

And lift its red-hot latch, 
No matter then how often you 

May drop the lighted match! 



76 



CONQUEROR, AND CONQUERED. 



CONQUEROR, AND CONQUERED. 
". ilexander died from a drunken debauch." 
There was a rumor, 'mongst the nearer 
stai 

That the freed spirit of the Median chief 
Sped to the giant planet Jupiter — 
Twelve hundred times and more the size 

of earth. 
"Ah! here is something worth the ef- 
fort!" he 
Said to a grim old Thracian, who had 

fought 
Many a battle hand in hand with him, 
And whose bold spirit also there was 

thrown. 
The Thracian threw to him a fear! 

smile. 
"How can you think of conquering this," 

he said, 
"You who were conquered by a cask of 

wine?" 

77 



Some people arc color-blind; some tone- 
deaf. Some do not know the sacred melody 
of PleyeVs Hymn, from Fisher's Hornpipe: 
and yet they love music, and join in it, or 
rather hang upon it, with unrestrained voices, 
every chance they get. 

If this soft-hearted Irishman had only been 
given a connecting link between his senti- 
ment and his violin — if he had been able to 
voice upon the magic strings of the rcsined 
harp the sweetness of his mind and heart — 
he might have made the world weep with his 
playing. 



LEARNING RORY O'MORE. 



LEARNING RORY O'MORE. 

Sure I lived a whole yare [said young 

Patrick Maroney] 
Widin the same hash'ry wid Michael 

Mahoney, 
Around the same table we bored and we 

boarded, 
And ate iverything that the panthrv 

afforded: 
But that was enough for the price, I'll 

allow — 
Which was nothin' to what cooked pro- 
visions is now. 
An' wid chaffin' an' laughin' we got along 

well, 
And I loved him as much as I'd care for 

to tell. 

But my frind had one habit that made you 
forget 

79 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Oftentimes, what a charmin' young feller 

you'd met. 
He would wake half the night, would this 

sing'lar lad, 
And would schrape on a rusty ould fiddle 

he had, 
And if time and if tune at a million each 

went, 
He would niver be able to lay up a 

cent; 
And I ask, "What's it for?" and he says, 

swate as June, 
I'm jist learnin' to play one perticular 

tune: 
They say ganius is work, and of work I'm 

the doer: 
\nd you one day will hear me play 'Rory 

O'More.' " 

\nd he went and took lessons here — 

there — anywhere — 
\nd his teachers all stuck in the bogs of 

despair; 

80 



LEARNING RORY MORE. * 

But he said, 'Til kape on for the shtrings 
to talk right, 

Till the cows all come home an' die dur- 
ing the night:" 

And I says to my frind "I'm afeared ivery 
day, 

That the tune the old cow died on's all 
ye'll e'er play :" 

But he worked and he scraped what the 
house would endure, 

In a way would have murdhred poor Rory 
O'More. 

An' he took off the resin by pounds: 
an* I said, 

"Was the music used up when they made 
the man's head?" 

And he'd ask me o'er often when through 
for the night, 

"Don't you think, now, Maroney, I'm get- 
tin' it right?" 

An' I says ivery time — wid the truth to 
commune — 

81 



*A thousand more verses. 

'It might slip in as part of a Chinaman's 

tune, 
But I think if poor Rory that racket 

should hear, 
He would turn in his grave an' then shtop 

up his ear." 

Well, the rest of the boarders felt mostly 

like me, 
And they give the poor lad the name 

"Fiddle Dee Dee;" 
And he made some excursions clane out 

of his head, 
An' he took loads of med'cine, an' took to 

his bed; 
Till the docthor decreed (the poor fellow 

was poor) 
"He can live for one day, but I can't give 

him more." 

And I said through my tears, ''Say, dear 

boy, does it be 
That ye'd like to sind words to your folks 

o'er the sea?" 

82 



LEARNING RORY MORE. 

And he whispered 'Tell Mother, my ould 

mother dear, 
That I'd hoped to come homeward an' see 

her this year, 
And to play her the tune that she danced 

o'er and o'er, 
When a light-hearted maiden— swate Rory 

O'More. 
Faix the fiddle along I was goin' to bring, 
And wid Rory surprise her, the very first 

thing. 
So I worked till I calloused my fingers and 

thumb, 
But however I coaxed it, the tune would 

not come ; 
And it never will be my good fortune, I 

fear, 
To be playin' that tuna for my mother to 

hear." 

Then he slept for a minut' — then raised 

up and cried, 
"Bring the fiddle here quick! for she 

seems at my side!" 
83 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

An' he snatched up the bow, and upon my 
dear word, 

He played "Rory O'More" schwate as 
ever you heard! 

And he sunk — wid a smile of affection 
and prida, 

And then followed the Doc's last pre- 
scription, an' died. 

An' there drifted one mornin' a letter our 

way, 
How that Mike and his mother both 

went the same day! 
And there's some of us dramy ones 

thought it was sure 
That while passing, she heard him play 

Rory O'More. 



84 



ON THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 



ON THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 

"Not yet. bill soon." 

Said Bacon to Shakespeare, I oft hear 

your name — 

In five cliff rent spellings they quote it: 

But as for the stuff — truth is alwa\ 3 

the same — 

You know mighty well that I wrote it." 

Then Shakespeare replied, "here's stilt 

work to be done — 

There is no use to scold or to banter: 

For yonder in new robes of khaki, comes 

one, 

Who settles all questions instanter." 

Then the referee smiled, and said "What's 
in a name? 
Uncalled-for this crass conversation — 
By George, neither one of you scribbled 
that same: 
Twas me, in an off-incarnation." 
85 



Parodies have always been considered a 

legitimate species of humor — and often more 
notable for their deviations from the original, 
than for their resemblances to it. Every 
writer with a sense of the ludicrous, has in- 
dulged in this species of literary gayety, in 
>>nc way or another. Few notable poems, 
but have been parodied {and often by able 
hands) again and again. 



==#^#^#== 



O WHERE WILL BE. 



O WHERE WILL BE. 

A PARODY. 

Oh where will be the cats that yawl — one 

hundred years from now? 
And dogs that in the night-time call. 

u Bow- wow- wow- wow-wow- wow'* ? 
We do not know : we only know that 

Time sometimes is good. 
And Death may do a lot of things that 

language never could. 

Oh where will be the fellow-man — what- 
ever he deserves, 

That whistles in the railway-car, and rasps 
our trembling nerves? 

We do not know: we only hope that ere 
a century goes. 

His improvised and doleful tune may 
reach a blessed close. 
87 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

And where will be the gentle maid who 

strikes our fancy dumb, 
By wagging up and down her jaw around 

the sizzling gum? 
We do not know: posterity however, yet 

may hope 
That her descendants will espouse another 

kind of "dope." 

And where will be the dear small boy, an 

hundred years to come, 
Who, when his neighbor wants to sleep, 

exploits the festive drum? 
The sweet and guileless little scamp — the 

innocent young rogue — 
May be in lands where harps are used, 

and drums are not in vogue. 

Oh where will be — if this be not a query 
brusque and raw, 

In what world of the future — my dear 
neighbors' motherinlaw? 

For in whichever one she ends her stren- 
uous earthly race, 

He wants to make some inquiries about 
the other place. 

88 



state's evidence. 



STATE'S EVIDENCE. 
(Suggested by Recent New York Evei 

What troubles arise betwixt brother and 

brother, 
When rascals fall out, and go shooting 

each other! 
What worry and grief it is certain to 

make, 
When gamblers find out that their In 

are the stake! 
When men "higher up" the ^ad mourner^ 

must join. 
As well as the victims who furnished the 

coin ! 
Then they who of dreariest facts have 

possession, 
Procure them some sackcloth, and run to 

confession; 
And each learns and studies the great 

task betimes, 
The art of confessing another man's 

crimes. 

89 



// we did not hate the mosquito so bitterly, 
perhaps we would study it. We would find 
that it exists all over the earth, even in the 
Arctic regions, and is one of the plagues of 
explorers. 

The male ones live upon such plants as 
they can find; relieving them, probably, of 
superfluous juices, which they can do better 
without. Having no nerves, the plants make 
no resistance, and the male insect has the 
pleasure of predatory dining, with none of 
its dangers. The female, however, has more 
courage, and attacks the thin-skinned human 
race, not seeming to apprehend any trouble, 
until the palm of a sturdy hand comes crash- 
ing against its frail anatomy. 



TO THE LAST MOSQUITRESS. 



TO THE LAST MOSQUITRESS. 
"Only the fetna itc." 

Last wing-vampire of the season! 

Final of uncounted numbers! 
You, for some sufficient reason, 

Sing a requiem to my slumbers. 
All the friends that you have known 

Twined in merriment or pain, 
From your gentle side have flown. 

Or at sanguine feasts were slain. 

Are you oldwife, mem'ry-laden. 

Or a matron, blithe and bustling, 
Or some fair insectile-maiden, 

For a placid future hustling? 
Were you watched by winged swain, 

As you fluttered to and fro? 
Are you — with or without brain. 

Handsome, as mosquitoes go? 
91 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Have you pedigree to tell? 

Did a grandame boast the process 
Of the sinking of a well 

In proud Caesar's strong proboscis? 
Did fair Cleopatra pause 

In her international cooing, 
To extend bejewelled claws 

For your ancestress' undoing? 

Anyhow, you are my guest: 

In the lamplight's faint refulgence, 
Go ahead and do your best, 

At one unrestrained indulgence! 
Take your drop of blood, I say! 

Mine a thousand times could fill 
you : — ■ 
Guiltless vampire, go your way: 

I'd be hanged before I'd kill you! 



P2 



TO DEAD BUTTERFLIES. 



TO DEAD BUTTERFLIES. 

Sun-gilded things, jewels with wings, 

Joying, with tremulous motion, 
How overhead gaily you sped, 
Through the air's crystalline ocean! 

Born into glee, fluttering free 

From the cold coffins that bound you, 

Bright did you blaze, mid the warm days. 
And the new freedom around you! 

Once you were down., worm-like and 
brown, 

In the weeds' chill-spreading shadows: 
Then, death defying, far you were flying 

Over the gardens and meadows. 



93 



(>//, the automobile! what shall pedestrians 
do with it? Scarcely any one but can remem- 
ber sundry narrow eseapes from its swift- 
whirling wheels, and hundreds and perhaps 
thousands are in the cemetery, on aecount 
of the escapes being left out. 

The laws that have been made with which 
to regulate this newer sort of transportation, 
stem almost as evasive as the machines 
themselves: but let us hope that some day 
it will be made reasonably safe to walk 
abroad in the public roads. 



AUTOMODILIA. 



AUTOMOBILIA. 

Ten men walking along the street, 
Hailing the joys that mortals meet: 
Comes an auto of swift design — 
Now, alas! there ari only nine. 

Nine men crossing the public way, 
Full of the joy of the golden day; 
Sounds the whistle a bit too late — 
Now, dear me! there are only eight. 

Eight young children upon the road, 
Playing in front of their abode: 
Comes a smart recruiter of heaven — 
Now, you note, there are only seven. 

Seven men crossing the busy street, 
Little knowing what they will meet: 
Comes a craft of the River Styx— 
Now, if you count, there are only six. 
95 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Six men running a touring-car, 
Pondering not how safe, but far; 
One of them reaches home alive — 
Hospitals shelter the other five. 

joy-riders unsafe to meet, 
Riding amuck in the midnight strc 
Fifty miles per the hour or more: 
Now there are merely parts of four. 

One poor fellow who stays at home, 
Never abroad in the streets to roam: 
Ho. is in the invalid ranks — 
But he as yet is living, thanks. 



96 



THE WELCOME — A PARODY. 



THE WELCOME A PARODY. 

come in the evening, or come in the 

morning, 
Come when you're looked Foi >me 

without warning'* — 
Come when it's easy, or come with 

endeavor; 
Come when you're stupid, or come when 

you're clever. 
But please — if you care for me — don't 

stay forever! 



97 



Some of US in Brooklyn frequently set our 
watches by the nine p. m. gun at the Navy 

Yard. Whatever else goes or comes, that 
^t note of welcome and defiance goes 
sweeping over the city, as if to say, "A bless- 
ing for those who conic to us with good 
intent— a grave for those who come to rob 
or injure us" 



THE NINE O CLOCK GUN. 



THE NINE O'CLOCK GUN. 

When the dark of the day nestles down, 
And the stars hang their lamps in the 
skies, 
When New York, the old world-famous 

town, 
Part in flame part in shadow land lies, 
When 'tis time that the children be wed 
To the innocent white-pillowed bed, 
But grim villains from over the earth 
Soon will prowl to dishonor their birth, 
Thus wren Night her first finger has 
pressed 
On the brow of the world, gently 
striving 
To soothe into much-needed rest, 

With the magics of tender contriv- 
ing; 
Then thund'ring o'er roof-top and tower, 
99 



A THOUSAND MORT. VERSES. 

Comes the first mighty stroke of an 

hour: 
Then again, as at set of the sun, 
Comes the boom of the nine-o'clock gun. 

From the wave-guarded nest where our 
fighting-boats rest, 
When they've homed the far-away seas, 
Comes this signal of power at the even- 
ing's mid-hour, 
That the timid may slumber at ease. 
That the hearts of the West may with 
confidence rest, 
In the good will of nations around: 
But the mailed hands of might are all 
readly to smite, 
Should that friendship a treach'ry be 
be found. 
So God grant that our peace with the 
world may not cease! 
But the flowers of a garden are nought, 
Unless, shunning neglect, there is power 
to protect, 
When by cruel desire they are sought. 
100 



THE NINE CLOCK HUN. 

So let nations "disarm", if they look for a 
charm 
In the ease of a duty undone. — 
Gentle peace is our choice: hut w 
must rejoice 
In the boom of the nine-o'clock gun. 



#^63h^- 



101 






There is a great difference of opinion as 
to the desirability of gum -chewing in public. 
Some do not mind an occasional exhibition 
of it; some tolerate it; others abhor it. It 
has often been doubted whether musicians 
could do their best work while jamming their 
jaws up and down. It is remembered and 
stated that "Blind Tom", the famous negro 
pianist, frequently chewed gum while play- 
ing the most splendid compositions: but some 
say that his work was all inspiration, and he 
did not know whether he had anything in his 
mouth, or indeed whether he had any mouth, 
until after his selection was finished. The 
author of this takes no sides on the subject: 
he merely tries to reproduce the feelings of 
an ultra-imaginative music-lover, under cer- 
tain circumstances. 






DISENCHANTED. 



DISENCHANTED. 

I saw the moving pictures trace 
Some several passions of the soul: 

But most of all I watched the face 
Of the piano's fair control. 

How well she followed up and down, 
The swift events that flittered there! 

She voiced each view of field and town, 
From radiant hope to black despair. 

Whatever of fancy or of fact 

The whirling films were wont to do, 
She with the most exquisite tact, 

Made the piano tell it, too. 

I crept up on her, as it were, 
The glories of her art to trace: 
103 



A THOUSAND MORT VERSES. 

1 almost fell in love with her, 

In that somewhat unusual place. 

j 

I nearer lurked: but oh, such pains 

Disastrous were: my heart went dumb: 

Right 'midst the most bewild'ring strains, 
The little beast was chewing gum. 




104 



OCTOBER CON! 



OCTOBER'S CONTRAST 

October held a carnival, 

When Summer days had fled; 
His halls were trimmed with blue and 
gold, 

And banners flaming red. 
Now all the world with fowl and fruit 

Were at his table fed; 
The richest wines of bough or vines 

Before his guests were spread. 

October held a funeral 

When Summer nights were fled; 
And all the leaves and all the vines 

And all the flowers were dead. 
The richly-colored drapery 

Was burial-robes instead, 
And shorn of pride, he lay and died 

Upon a lowly bed. 
105 



The destruction of a great American war- 
ship, in a foreign harbor, was one of the 
great tragic events of the century. It will 
be one of the mysteries of all centuries — 
for the real history of that terrible explosion 
that has been heard around the world again 
and again ever since, will never be told, or, 
if it is told, will not be credited excepting by 
a part of humanity. 

Among its results was the freeing of Cuba 
from the tyranny of Spain; but the lessons 
learned from it were, if possible, still more 
valuable. 



IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE MAINE. 



IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE MAINE. 

In the farm-lands or the city 

Grieved a woman — sad — alone; 
'Neath God's everlasting pity 

She was weeping for her own. 
Cabinets had toiled and wrangled, 

Statesmen could not soothe her pain — 
For that) weary heart was tangled 

In the wreckage of the Maine. 



Through the golden: halls of fashion 

Moved a lady tall and fair; 
Round h^r gleamed the flames of passion 

On the soft magnetic air. 
Suitors bowed and bent above her, 

But their wiles were all in vain : 
She was thinking of a lover 

In the wreckage of the Maine. 
107 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

On a cot, a sailor lying 

Bowed his soul in silent prayer; 
Through the long days he was dying; 

But his tears were falling there, 
For the gallant fellow-seamen 

Who might r^st, while Time should 
reign, 
In that sepulchre of freemen, 

'Neath the wreckage of the Maine. 

On a continent of splendor 

Was a nation calmly grand — 
Freedom's natural defender — 

Honest labor's helping hand: 
And it spoke, half kind, half cruel: 

"Liberty, O Haughty Spain, 
Soon may grasp another jewel 

From the wreckage of the Maine!" 



108 



CORALS, ON THE MAINE. 



CORALS, ON THE "MAINE." 

The warrior ship had moored beneath the 

waves, 
Its tangled depths were crowded thick 

with graves: 
Each jewelled sword had bent a shattered 

knee 
Before the rusting sabres of the sea. 

True patriots could not let their heroes lie 
Without one glance of pity from the sky: 
So delved among those caverns of despair. 
And all the ghosts of ruin slumb'ring 
there. 

No gleaming triumph of the builder's 

toil, 
But one demoniac moment served to spoil; 
And hearts long loved and cherished night 

and day, 

109 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Were in a midnight tempest swept away. 

It was a lesson to our minds — alas! 
That warning: how or when it comes to 

pass, 
This world must heed the universal 

touch, 
And fall in Ruin's ever-waiting clutch. 

But lo! — amid that sad and silent place, 
Were tiny craftsmen of the coral race! 
Those unobtrusive "toilers of the sea" — 
Those builders of the islands yet to be. 

With placid thrift, they plied their wizard- 
trade, 

Close-clinging to the fragments War had 
made, 

As if those had been summoned to their 
call: 

They knew not that the wrecks were 
wrecks at all. 

It was a lesson to our hearts! — with joy 
We felt that Ruin is in God's employ; 
And there are builders that we cannot see, 
110 



CORALS, ON THE "MAINE." 

Erecting grander worlds for you and me. 

It was a lesson to our souls! — above 
The gloomy graves of those we loved and 

love, 
The joys they sought, our martyred lads 

may know, 
On spirit islands, Fashioned long a. 



KW 



in 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 



THE FUNERAL OF THE MAINE. 

Out of the harbor she sought long ago, 

Harbor that welcomed, but served not 
to save, 
Under the clouds, bending piteous and 
low, 

Crept the great ship to her grave. 
Not from the battle's tumultuous breath, 

Not from the glory of victory's morn : — 
But from her travail of flame and of death, 

Lo! a republic was born. 

Not in the arms of this Queen of the 
Wrecks, 
Lingered the dust of her far-famous 
dead: 
Forests of palms hailed the flag on her 
decks — 
Roses above her were spread. 
112 



THE FUNERAL OF THE MAINE. 

Long had she waited her funeral-day, 
Lying in rough state mid sunlight or 
gloom: 
Now the world's plaudits each step of the 
way 
Followed her path to the tomb. 

Full sixty fathoms we buried her 1 

'Neath the rough sea and the ne'er- 
changing skies: 
Far from molesting of friend or of foe, 

Heedless of tempests she lies. 
Lies in the arms of the ocean-waves 
pressed, 

With the wet sea-roses over her spread, 
While, with the love of a nation caressed, 

Arlington cares for her dead. 



113 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 



THE ROSES LAMENT. 

Another summer-time has gone, where all 

the seasons go — 
The autumn winds will soon be here, and 

whistle to and fro; 
The drooping leaves, in gaudy sheaves, 

have closed their fall display, 
And shown that everything must have its 

night, as well as day. 
The winter peers, O Mamma, from its icy 

parapet, 
And I — a bleak and lonely flower — have 

not been gathered yet! 

When summer came, you recollect, we 

left the town behind, 
And fished along the fertile sea, to sec 

what I could find: 
I hooked Adolphus Arthur Jenckes, and 

played on him awhile 
114 



THE ROSES LAMENT. 

My swellest gowns and bathing-suits, and 

best assorted smile. 
But when I brought him safe to land, 'twas 

with new-opened eyes: 
Young Mr. Jenckes proved and was proved 

a barber in disguise! 

Wd found a most divine hotel, with all 
our plans in tune, 

Where eligible men at hops were thick as 
leaves in June; 

I dawdled round with threi young shrimps 
and mildly was enraged, 

To find that every one of them was sev- 
eral times engaged! 

When earnestness has been cajoled, tha 
one that suffered weeps: 

It's hard to do the flirting-game, when one 
must play at keeps! 

We went where people who ar3 sick pur- 
sue a jolly round, 

And drink such portions of the sea as 
bubble from the ground; 
115 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

We stepped into a boarding-house tumult- 

uously serene, 
And where I made myself, I thought, quite 

proper to be seen. 
"Ralph's diamonds proposed to me — no 

rivalship I feared — 
Until, you recollect, Mamma, his second 

wife appeared. 

And then, that millionaire — oh my! we 
wandered by the lake, 

And I fell in, before his ^yes, by pre- 
arranged mistake: 

Allowed myself to consciousness restored, 
when best 'twould be, 

And thought, "He's saved my life! of 
course he'll have to marry me!" 

How I to my preserver clung, with all the 
strength I had! 

But 'twasn't the millionaire: — 'twas poor 
old unexpected Dad. 

> 

I've had to take, you know, since first 

from maidenhood I grew, 

110 



THE ROSE S LAMENT. 

Three tucks within my age, Mamma, and 

there's another due; 
Unless the angels intervene, I fear 'twill 

never be, 
That Hymen crosses o'er my path, and 

swings his torch at me. 
I'll try once more next summer: when, if 

something doesn't befall, 
I'll think I'll have to go through life an 

"Auntie", after all. 



117 



ill the ultra-mean things that arc done 
in this world (and there are plenty of them, 
Hem the kidnapping of a child is 

one <>t the very worst. A villain who can 
play upon the homesickness of a little one, 
and the terrible anguish of a parent, for the 
saki ..', has no right to ex\ 

men the law, or from any human 

being who lias a heart. 

It is pleasant to dwell upon the fact, that 

in this case, there iras one member of tlie 

gj Who did have a heart, when at last it 

was reached. 



THE KIDNAPPED BOY S PRAYER. 



THE KIDNAPPED ROYS PRAYER. 

The deed was done — the game was 
caught: the robbers grimly smiled 

And chuckled at how easy 'twas to steal a 
helpless child. 

A lure into a carriage-door, a rush through 
gleam and gloom, 

A manufactured jail within a rude and 
dreary room; 

A warning to a homesick boy to keep dis- 
creet and still, 

With threatenings from men who knew an 
hundred ways to kill; 

A letter to the stricken sire with, money 
its demand, 

And hints of death if so the coin came 
promptly not to hand; 

And night fell down upon the seene, anil 
left the boy alone, 
119 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

With no one there save God Himself, of 
all he e'er had known. 

Of you who read this simple tale, the 
strongest must agree 

That 'mong all homesick, heartsick lads, 
the wretchedest was he. 

This was the first of all his nights when 
none he loved was there; 

The first that he had ever known without 
a mother's prayer. 

But he, still brave, in spite of all the ter- 
rors round him thrown, 

Pushed back a sob, and said "I guess I'll 
have to pray alone. 

"O Lord, of course you're on to this — 

know all about the case, 
An' why you let 'em bring me here to such 

a shabby place; 
It's goin' to make Pop rippin' mad — an' 

tempt him for to swear — 
An' Mom — I'm sure this instant now she's 

joinin' me in prayer; 
120 



THE KIDNAPPED BOYS PRAYER. 

An' Sister Mabe is. grievin' 'cause this 

mornin' when we stood 
An' scrapped about that little game, she 

said I wan't no good; 
An' Brother Rob has one the less to tell 

his stories to, 
An' Auntie Grace is worryin' 'round, not 

knowin' what to do; 

And Baby's gone just half to sleep, quite 

sure things isn't right, 
Because, you see, I didn't come and kiss 

him 'sweet good-night'; 
An' Ninelives won't be half a cat without 

me in the shed, 
To pick a romp and scrap with him before 

he goes to bed; 
An' when tomorrow mornin', boys comes 

round there on the sly, 
An' gives our little curly squeal, they 

won't get no reply; 
An' Teacher she will sort of mope an' 

feel a little sad, 
121 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

An' state that now she's lost the most mis- 
chievous boy she had; 
(An' yet she thought she liked me, too, 

an' said 'twas very sweet — 
That time with stones I plunked a dog 

that bit her on the street;) 
In truth, O Lord, I think they all would 

love to see me back, 
Though not so glad as / would be to take 

the home'ard track; 
An' if you'll help me out o' this, I tell you 

straight and true, 
Whenever it is so I can, I'll do as much 

for you." 

Of course it was a rough young prayer — 

in neither prose nor rhyme — ■ 
Or grammar, such as one might use, in 

youth's or manhood's time; 
But still it may have worked more good 

than words discreet and fair; 
For God knows many curious ways with 

which to answer prayer. 
122 



THE KIDNAPPED BOY S PRAYER. 

The bandit guard — an old gray rogue — 

was listening at the door, 
And caught some talk, the like of which, 

he ne'er had heard before. 
But echoes of a boyhood past came tolling 

through his brain, 
And his crude heart had softnesses that 

worked the youngster gain. 
"Come with me, kid", he whispered soft: 

the two foes sneaked away, 
Perhaps ten minutes from the time the 

boy commenced to pray. 
They crept through many hidden paths 

not fruitless of alarms, 
But when next morning smiled, the boy 

was in his mother's arms. 



123 






The good people of the country (and there 
are many of them) who are laboring in the 
interests of universal peace, are doing a 
\rand work. They hare already, 
no doubt, prevented several bloody and 
expensive wars. 

Their plans, when successful, will settle 
most of the national disputes, by means of 
courts of arbitration. This means, really, 
and expensive lawsuits. 

But none of the nations ought to disarm, 
in anticipation of such a result. When a 
decision is made, they must be ready to 
enforce it, against any nation that refuses 
to abide by it. 






THE STINGLESS BEE. 



THE STINGLESS BEE. 

A hiver of thought, through nights and 
days 

Forever inventing some new thing, 
Was trying in long Burbankian v 

To fashion a bee without a sting. 

field and Forest this friend could 

go," 
He mused, as he toiled, one summer 

day, 
"And never a fight and never a foe 
Its mission of splendor could delay. 

"The time that it now in strife may use, 
Could go to the peaceful help of men; 

E'en children fondle it as they choose, 
And never be stung — by bees — again 
125 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

"The syllable 'less', this planet o'er 
On many a word has power to please; 

And I shall be known, forever more, 
As first deviser of stingless bees." 

That night there came to his restless bed, 
A queen-bee, wrapped in a filmy dream: 

A halo of power adorned her head — 
Her eyes were soft with the mother- 
gleam. 

"Strive not," she said, "ingenious one, 
To rob my child of its sole defense, 

Or from the treasures that he has won, 
To say to him 'Helpless go you hence!' 

"If through great floods of the life-strewn 
air, 

Unarmed we speed him upon his way, 
The humblest insect lingering there, 

May mark him out for an easy prey. 

-"If into a honeyed flower he. creep, 
To harvest its swaying mines of gold, 
126 



THE STINGLESS BEE. 

Then wingless robbers on him can leap^ - 
The sparrow's God may his death 
behold. 

"And how of the treasures my palace 
boasts, 
That man and woman so gaily share? — 
Wild bees from the woods, in armored 
hosts, 
With looted riches will fill the a>!" 

The hiver now, in his vision-dream, 

A call from the tombs of patriots h~ard : 
"Our monarch of sweets, 'twould surely 
seem, 
Has given this nation a warning- 
word!" 



127 



What will finally become of our neighbor- 
republic on the south? It is as large as 
France; as large as Great Britain; as large 
as Ireland; Germany; as large 

as A ustro- Hungary: in fact, nearly as large 
as all those countries put together. 

It has a coast-line of 6,000 miles; it has 
all climates, all soils, and all metals. It has 
an ancient history that challenges the admira- 
tion of the most brilliant scholars; and a 
modern one that arouses the sympathy of 
the world. 

Meanwhile, it is iiarassed by civil war, 
overrun by rebels, and threatened with one 
lution after another. 

Will we be obliged to adopt it, in order 
to save it from hopeless anarchy, and add 
twenty seven new stars to our own glorious 

nag :- 



IN .MEXICO. 



IN MEXICO. 

Pessimist, Pessimist, high and low. 
What did you find in Mexico? — 
Nothing novel in act or word, 
More than I ever have seen or heard; 
Men are yet as they long have been; 
Saints or sinners — whiche'er will win; 
Brother with brother and race with race, 
Bartering blood for power and place, 
Strong men dying by night and day. 
So the living could have their way, 
Thus it has been and is ever so, 
Where the pleasures and passions grow. 

Dreamer — delver in long-ago — 
What did you feel in Mexico? — ■ 
Shades of the Toltecs lingered there — 
Aztec conquerings filled the air; 
Cortez striking with greedy fangs — 
129 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Guatimozin in torture-pangs; 
Star-flags greeting in bloody fray, 
Cerro Gordo and Monterey. 
Small Napoleon's empire-boast, 
Maximilian's unhappy ghost; 
All seemed wandering to and fro 
There in the hills of Mexico. 

Patriot, seeking the sunrise-glow, 
What did you love in Mexico? — 
Heroes teeming with bravery grand. 
Fighting for God and father-land, 
Still in the faith of duty strong, 
Whether their cause were right or wrong. 
Still did they suffer, toil, and fight, 
Still did they seek with brain and might, 
Something perhaps they could not see, 
But that they hoped was yet to be. 
Thus with their blood there yet may flow 
Future blessings for Mexico! 



130 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 

When the misty Second Summer 
Soothes again our wearied e\ 

Or the storm — unwelcome comer — 
Throws a frown upon the sky: 

Still, the steady truth divining. 

We may know the clouds are shining, 

And the sky above is fair; 

For the golden re. 

When the mist of Pleasure o'er us 

Bids the soul in languor stay, 
Or a sorrow looms before us, 

Sending night through all the day. 
Not exulting — not repining — 
We may know that Heaven is shining: 
With the eyes of faith and. prayer. 
Still we see that God is there. 

131 



When you go to Poult ney, Vermont, drive 
or walk over to Hast Poultney, and see the 

\Ct spot where Horaee Greeley came up 
the road from his home in Massachusetts, a 
.'way - a slender lad fifteen y< 
and asked for a position as appren- 
tice in the little old printing-office there, and 
I to contribute his services at forty 
dollars per year. A bctter-drcsscd. better- 
looking, and letter-groomed hoy, would prob- 
ably have obtained more. He immediately 
commenced "making good", and it was not 
many years before he became one of the 
leading editors of New York. His subse- 
quent history is a part of the history of our 
-ountry. 



THE COMING OF GREELEY. 



THE COMING OF GREELEY. 

Twas a day of summer quiet in the dusty 

village street; 
All the chair-haunts were deserted where 

the gossips loved to meet; 
Scarce a letter made its exit from the 

small postoffice door, 
And a lonely clock was ticking in the 

crude old country store. 
All the market-day's ambition back to 

farming lands had gone, 
And the sleepy dwelling-houses seemed to 

struggle with a yawn. 
Twas not quite a time for banners of 

success to be unfurled, 
Or to look for an invasion from a leader 

of the world. 

Look! into the street there enters one 
whose widely-spoken name 
133 



A THOUSAND MORE VE&SES. 

Soon will light this modest village with 

the starlit torch of fame! 
There is with you one whom Heaven has 

intended as a seer — 
One whose tones of honest wisdom all the 

world will stop to hear; 
Who will hold the thoughts of thousands 

in the hollow of his hand — 
Who will smite with leaden gauntlets a 

great Evil of the Land; 
One whose words of sturdy wisdom will 

be read by night and day, 
W'li r The Star-strown Language 

has pursued its gleaming way; 
Who in many a hut and palace will become 

an honor-guest, 
As he runs the blade of wisdom round the 

Ulcer of the West. 

Throng the O sleuths of wonders! 

here is something grand to see; 
What a prince of stately presence must 

this potentary be! 
134 



THE COMING OF GREELEY. 

He has come with milk-white horses and 

gold harness on them spread? 
There are music-masters playing — there 

are banners overhead? 
There are trumpets singing triumph from 

their bold and brazen lun- 
There are drum-head^ swiftly rolling 

music-morsels 'neath fceir tongi; 
There are soldiers maT^^ng brave 

through the village up and down. 
Fiercely guarding with their weapons 

o'er a never-threatened town? 
All at once from bonds of quiet, claims 

the thoroughfare relea 
And the windows all are glowing with 

the battle-flags of pea^ 

No! this hero of the future has no splen- 
dors to employ: 

He is not a princely ruler, but a poor and 
lonely boy. 

From the far-off country-regions, he has 
struggled here alone, 
135 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

To make good the high ambition that his 

heart so long has known. 
There is lack of preparation — there is 

negligence to spare — 
From his worn and dusty foot-gear, to his 

tangled flaxen hair; 
There is lack of boyish beauty, and of 

studied city grace, 
From the hard rough hands beside him, to 

the freckles in- his face. 
But a dogged resolution will not let his 

courage fail, 
And his valiant heart keeps saying, "I will 

conquer and prevail!" 
Did he conquer? — let the chapters of his 

brave life make reply: 
For the boyish village printer won a name 

that will not die. 



136 



ARBUTUS. 



ARBUTUS. 

Under the snow, under the snow, 
The leaves of the trailing arbutus grow; 
Toiling the earth that loves them nigh, 
But hoping to some day see the sky. 

Under the snow, under the snow. 

The flowers of the trailing arbutus glow; 

E'en in the dark their duty done, 

But hoping to some day kiss the sun. 



137 



M i could sooner tell twenty people what to 
than be one of the twenty to follow my 
own showing", Shakespeare makes one of his 
cheu say. The dramatist thus gave 

another proof of the taet that he wrote for 
all time or at least as long as human nature 
shall last. Everybody must admit that, and 
will always admit that the advice in the fol- 
lowing poem, is a great deal more easily 
given than obeyed. 



ADVICE TO OTHERS. 



ADVICE TO OTHERS. 

Smile — smile — smile all the while, 
And soon you will daily wear it: 

Grin — grin — what^'er you are in — 
And then you'll the better bear it. 

Hope, hope, to the end of your rope, 
Then struggle that rope to sever: 

Mope, mope, and you'll find good scope 
To follow the trade forever. 

Toil — toil — your share of the spoil 
Will come, some* way or other; 

Maybe in wealth, and maybe in health, 
And maybe the love of your brother. 

Give — give — 'tis the way to live, 
If good sound sense can guide it: 

Save — save — and not for the grave: 
But what you may need this side it. 
139 



A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. 

Fight — fight — with all of your might, 
Whenever the facts demand it: 

Cease — cease — bring cargoes of peace 
From victory, when you land it. 

Think — think — like one on the brink 
Of something too grave for laughter, 

Well — well — of the heaven or hell 
That follows us here and hereafter. 

Trust — trust — as indeed you must, 

God in his varied dealing: 
Wounds He will give that your soul may 
live, 

And then — attend to the healing. 



140 



AUTUMN WEATHER. 



AUTUMN WEATHER. 

Yellow, mellow, ripened days. 

Sheltered in a golden coating; 
O'er the dreamy, listless haze, 

White and dainty cloudlets floating; 
Winking at the blushing trees. 

And the sombre furrowed fallow; 
Smiling at the airy ease 

Of the southward-flying swallow: 
Sweet and smiling are thy ways, 
Beauteous, golden Autumn d 

Shivering, quivering, tearful da 

Fretfully and sadly weeping; 
Dreading still, with anxious gaze, 

Icy fetters round thee creeping; 
O'er the cheerless, withered plain. 

Woefully and hoarsely calling; 
Pelting hail and drenching rain 

On thy scanty vestments falling. 
Sad and mournful are thy ways. 
Grieving, wailing Autumn days! 
141 



SEP 19 1912 



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